the wall of his chest. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Feeling a bit faint...’
He reached for his phone with his free hand, the other keeping her close. ‘I’m going to call an ambulance.’
She pushed back against him, her eyes troubled. ‘No, please don’t do that. I’ll be fine in a minute or two.’
What about in half an hour? Later that night? The following morning? Who was going to take care of her, to watch over her, to make sure she didn’t faint and hurt herself? He couldn’t leave her like this. What if she had a fall? She could end up with a brain injury or worse. She was his responsibility now. The knowledge cemented his decision to marry her. How else could he keep a close eye on her if he lived in another country, or even a few streets away? No. This was the only way forward. ‘Do you want to lie down? Here, I’ll carry you.’
He scooped her up and carried her to her bedroom. It looked like someone had ransacked the room or got dressed for a night out in the middle of a hurricane. The wardrobe was open and a variety of clothes strewn about, some on the end of the bed, others draped over a chair and more on the floor. The dressing table was scattered with make-up detritus: brushes, pots, hair products and a hair straightener. He laid her slight figure on the bed.
She lay back, folded her bandaged hand over her forehead and closed her eyes. ‘I’m so sorry about this.’
Loukas took her good hand and stroked her slender nail-bitten fingers. ‘Don’t be silly. It’s not your fault.’
It’s mine.
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